Damaged not Broken
by willoffire123
Summary: A series of one-shots of those Oliver loves realizing that Oliver is not as fine as he wants everyone to believe he is. Watch Oliver's friends and family help Oliver deal with his PTSD.
1. Moira

**Willoffire123: I friggin love this show.**

 **Thea: Is that why you decided to abandon all your other projects to show everyone how messed up my brother is?**

 **Oliver: Hey!**

 **Tommy: She's got a point, dude.**

 **Willoffire123: I am not abandoning anything yet. I just want to start something new right now. I don't own Arrow.**

 **Tommy:…**

 **Harry Potter: You're supposed to say 'on with the chapter'.**

 **Willoffire123: Harry! I haven't seen you in four years! How have you been?**

 **Harry Potter: On cloud nine.**

 **Willoffire123: Yeah?**

 **Harry Potter: Yeah, because you weren't there.**

 **Willoffire123: He totally missed me.**

 **Thea: Is she always this blind?**

 **Harry Potter: You get used to it.**

 **Tommy: Um, on with the chapter?**

* * *

Moira

"Moira, I'd like you to prepare yourself. The Oliver you lost may not be the Oliver they found."

20 percent of his body was covered in scar tissue. Her beautiful baby boy, the one she thought was gone forever, was alive. Now, instead of life and death, only a thin sheet of glass separated the two of them. Oliver stood motionless, his back facing his mother and his doctor. When he'd arrived at Starling City General, Doctor Chen said that he'd been almost incoherent and had attacked two EMT's before they could sedate him. He'd then spent two days in the hospital before his doctor declared him stable enough for visitors. Now, Moira was taking her baby home, with or without Chen's approval. She waited five years, she would not wait any longer.

Moira Queen knew that after five years on a deserted island, her son, Oliver, would be shaken. Seeing him standing there, motionless and rigid, she was almost afraid that if she approached her son, he would shatter like glass.

Oliver turned as she approached him anyway. Moira waited with baited breath for him to make the first move.

Oliver's eyes were like broken glass. That didn't scare Moira though. No, what scared her the most was when Oliver turned around, he didn't seem to show any recognition at all to his mother's face.

"Oliver?" she asked hesitantly, terrified for her baby, for the parts of him that were gone and fearful for what might be left.

Something in Oliver's wooden face slacked at the sound of her voice.

"Mom," he breathed. His voice was thin and as fragile as glass.

"Oh," Moira sighed and embraced her boy in a hug, "Oh, my beautiful boy."

Moira felt her heart drop when her own baby flinched at her touch, almost as if he would shatter at the slightest touch.

" _The Oliver you lost may not be the one they found."_

Dr. Chen's words resonated in her mind.

"Come, Oliver. Let's go home."

Oliver followed, silent and obedient.

* * *

Moira knew Dr. Chen was right. She knew that something had changed her child on that island.

That stormy night, when she and Walter entered his room to find him curled in a ball on the floor by his open window he almost killed her because of a nightmare.

"Mom, I-I'm so sorry I d-didn't mean to," he spluttered after scrambling away from his mother to a corner, panting and refusing to make eye contact with her or Walter.

"It's alright, sweetheart," she said between gasps, and she meant it, "It's alright."

Oliver still wouldn't meet her eyes. He held his soaked, muscled arms in front of his face as if him blocking his view of his mother and stepfather would prevent him from whatever nightmare he was thinking of.

Moira took her rain-soaked son into her arms.

"Moira-," Walter started to warn her. God, why couldn't she share his common sense?

Oliver howled.

"Mom please n-no no no I can't no you don't get it I'm going to hurt you no, stop, please-,"

"Oliver," Moira choked on her own tears, what happened to her baby boy? "It's alright, sweetheart, you're home."

With Walter's help, she guided her son away from the window, stripped him down to his boxers and threw his wet clothes into a pile by the door, and tucked him into his bed. Moira stroked her son's sweat-streaked brow in an attempt to calm him down.

"Mom, please-," Oliver groaned, obviously exhausted, "I-I can't protect you from me right now."

It was then and there that Moira vowed that whatever was wrong with her son, what ever nightmare he was still trapped in, she would be there every step of the way to help him through it, whether he wanted her to or not.

Ignoring the way he shuddered and held his breath when she touched him, she bent over and gave him a quick kiss to his forehead.

"It's going to be alright, sweetie."

She got up and followed Walter out the door, whispering, "You're home."

Whether or not that statement was really true, Moira Queen still didn't know.

* * *

 **Willoffire123: You never did explain why you're here, Harry.**

 **Harry: Why are any of us here, really?**

 **Willoffire123: Good question.**

 **Thea: To deal with my brother's obvious PTSD.**


	2. Thea

**Oliver: You just posted your first chapter 2 minutes ago. Haven't you had enough of me for one night?**

 **Willoffire123: Nope! Plus, I do my best work at this time of night.**

 **Harry: It's when the crazies start to really set in.**

 **Willoffire123: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.**

 **Harry: Willoffire123 doesn't own Arrow.**

 **Oliver: On with the chapter?**

 **Willoffire123: There you go, Oliver! You'll be just like Harry here before you know it!**

 **Oliver: British?**

 **Harry: Her minion.**

* * *

Thea

So maybe she was being too hard on Ollie.

But come on, her big brother came back from the friggin' dead and all he wanted to do was kill her buzz!

That night, Thea woke to a crash. Blinking out the sleep from her eyes, she determined the crash to have come from Ollie's room.

Damn.

Bare feet plodded silently down the hall to her big brother's room. Another crash told her she should go and get her mother, but she was scared.

She needed to see her big brother.

She yanked the door open with shaking hands. Oliver paced up and down the room, wringing his hands and muttering to himself.

Thea made to flick on the lights, but when Oliver became illuminated by the light in the hall, Thea had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

Her mother had, albeit reluctantly, told her about the scarring, but this?

What did they do to him?

Who did this to him?

"O-Ollie?" Thea spluttered.

Oliver froze, facing Thea. His body went rigid. His eyes, two blue pinpricks of amazement and fear stared straight through her.

"Shado?"

Thea was absolutely terrified. Oliver looked like if she said one thing wrong, or if she made one wrong move, he was actually going to attack her. She wanted to yell for Walter, or for her mother, but found no voice left.

A strong hand on her shoulder almost made her scream until she glanced behind her to see that it was Walter.

"She's safe, Oliver," Walter said calmly, as if he'd done this before, "She told us to tell you that."  
Thea watched her brother sway. "She's…"

Walter moved past Thea. With strong and steady hands, he guided her brother not to his bed, but to the floor next to it where a thin blanket had been crumpled up and discarded. "Go back to sleep, Oliver."

"Shado?" he repeated.

"Will be alright," Walter informed him again, "Now get some sleep."

"Yessir," he slurred, already half-asleep.

Walter guided a mute Thea out into the hall.

"Wh-what was that?" Thea managed after a few seconds, "Ollie, he, and then you, then, I- who's Shado?"  
"I have no idea," said Walter, rubbing his neck, "It's a different person each night. You're lucky he didn't think you were Fyres or Waller."

"Who-,"

"I don't know who those people are either, Thea," said Walter, "But Oliver's been having these nightmares every night since his return."

"And no one thought it important to tell me this?" Thea cried, in full on tears at this point because she has _never_ seen her brother look so broken before. Not when she was grilling him for being distant and not opening up to her, not for anything. "The nightmares? Or the scars?"

"Are his story to tell, Thea," Walter said soothingly, wrapping his arms around his stepdaughter, "But you must remember that Oliver has been through a great trauma. He has much healing to do before he can be ready to open up fully to us."

"But won't opening up to us help him heal?" Thea demanded, "We love him, I love him, I just want him to be okay again."

"Do you know why none of us were allowed to visit Oliver in the hospital for two days after he returned?" Walter asked her. "It was because Oliver was brought back into contact with civilization very quickly and that messed with him. We weren't allowed to visit him because he attacked two EMTs and was almost hysterical from fear of all of the strangers trying to help him."

Thea poked her head back into Oliver's room. Oliver lay curled in a ball, a shaking mass of scarred muscle.

"I want to help him, Walter," she decided determinedly, "I just don't know how."

"I wish I did too, Thea," Walter said tiredly, "I wish I did too."

* * *

 **Willoffire123: Me sleepy.**

 **Harry: Go away.**

 **Willoffire123: Okay. Until next time, then.**


	3. Tommy

**Willoffire123: My dog is creating so much havoc right now.**

 **Rosie: WOOF!**

 **Oliver: What did you feed her?**

 **Willoffire123: She may have gotten her paws on one or two chocolate covered coffee beans.**

 **Thea: Well that's not good.**

 **Rosie: WOOF!**

 **Willoffire123: She is bouncing off the walls and won't stop barking at inanimate objects. Well, she does that last one all the time anyway.**

 **Oliver: Maybe she'll calm down if you leave her alone?**

 **Thea: Good idea, Ollie! Let's get back to your dysfunctionalism. Willoffire123 doesn't own Arrow.**

 **Willoffire123: On with the chapter.**

* * *

Tommy

Tommy Merlyn was ecstatic. Positively giddy, in fact, when he pulled up in front of the Queen's Mansion that day. For now, the building represented not a beacon of sadness and mourning, but an item of hope and wonder.

His best friend, Oliver Queen, came back from the dead.

"What did I tell you? Yachts suck," he said triumphantly to the back of the man before him.

Tommy was so ready to have his best friend back. He already had a million different ideas for what they'd do first to celebrate his return.

What he didn't have was any idea what to do with the Oliver he saw in front of him.

Sure, his hair was shorter. Oliver explained later that they'd shaved off his impressive mane and matching beard at the hospital. He was physically bigger too, more muscly.

But when Oliver turned around with that stony smile on his face, Tommy's giddiness chipped.

"Tommy Merlyn."

Well he _sounded_ happy to see him, but Tommy wasn't stupid. When Tommy held his arms out for a hug, Oliver looked so obviously uncomfortable, but he reigned it in for a quick hug.

"I missed you, buddy."

And he meant it. He missed his best friend who at one point, was his one true partner in crime.

But this guy? The one who sat quietly at dinner while he rambled on five years worth of information that Oliver never got to experience, was a complete stranger.

"What was it like there?"

Tommy would've groaned aloud if he could. Tommy could see Thea's question shutting Oliver up like a clam.

"Cold," he said stiffly.

Tommy laughed to fill the awkward silence in the room. "Tomorrow, you and me, we're doing the city, we have a lot to catch up on."  
Tommy has heard from Mrs. Queen the story of what happened when Oliver was brought to the hospital. He knows what bringing him back into civilization too quickly has already done, and it scares him how easily Oliver consents to going around town with Tommy.

Oliver stood up. "May I be excused?"

"Don't forget about tomorrow, buddy," Tommy sees fit to remind him. Oliver claps him on the back in a reassuring gesture and Tommy pats his arm. He wishes he could grab onto it, sit Oliver down and demand for his friend to tell him exactly what was wrong with him.

Before he can do anything of the sort, Oliver is gone.

"He didn't eat any food," Thea said in a small voice, "Look, his plate is untouched."

"Mr. Steele?"

"Yes, Tommy?"

Tommy gulped, "Oliver never took Russian in college."

Mrs. Queen sighed. "Add it to the growing list of unanswered questions."  
"Why can't we just ask him?" Tommy asks the room at large. "He's my best friend, your brother, your son and your stepson. What's the worst thing that can happen?"

"You saw him, Tommy," said Thea, never looking up from her plate, "You should know why you can't do that."

Tommy's mind flashes back to seeing his best friend's eyes for the first time in five years, full of pain and fear and loss. Yes, that was it. Oliver was lost.

"Tommy, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Mrs. Queen."

And he meant it. In the time following Oliver's disappearance, he had become the Queen family's support system, filling in for Oliver as Thea's brother, and helping her take care of her mother.

"I need you to get through to Oliver," said Mrs. Queen, "We've all been trying, but with the constant nightmares-,"

"Wait, what?" Tommy demanded, looking around the table. It was then, for the first time, that he noticed the bags under everyone's eyes.

"He gets them every night," Thea said softly, "We take turns talking him through it."

"And he-,"

"Doesn't remember a thing in the morning," said Mr. Steele, "But maybe, Tommy, if you can get him to open up to you and tell you what happened to him on that island, maybe the nightmares will stop."

"You can count on me," he said without hesitation, "I'll keep an eye on him."

After all, new Oliver or old Oliver, what are best friends for?

* * *

 **Willoffire123: Hey, this is kind of fun.**

 **Oliver: Sure it is.**

 **Willoffire123: You're just as messed up in the head as I'm making you out to be, but now everyone can see it.**

 **Thea: Just let it happen big bro.**

 **Tommy: I'm done with this right now. Until next time!**


	4. Laurel

**Willoffire123: Hello, it's me.**

 **Tommy: NO MORE ADELE! NO MORE!**

 **Willoffire123: What's his problem?**

 **Thea: Laurel loves Adele.**

 **Tommy: NO MORE!**

 **Oliver: What's an Adele?**

 **Willoffire123: Not important.**

 **Tommy: NO MORE!**

 **Harry: You have a problem with British people, Merlyn?**

 **Tommy: NO MORE!**

 **Thea: Ok, let's get on with this before Tommy blows a gasket. Willoffire123 doesn't own Arrow.**

 **Oliver: I have no idea what's going on.**

 **Thea: Nobody cares! On with the chapter!**

* * *

Laurel

Laurel doesn't know what to think anymore.

Some part of her, the rational part of her, tells her she should hate Oliver Queen. And to some degree, she does. Oliver broke her heart. Oliver is the reason Sarah is dead. Oliver is a bad news, billionaire playboy who only cares about having a good time, five years in solitude or not.

But then Laurel agreed to be Oliver's attorney, because her father hates Oliver more than she ever could and refuses to believe anything less than what he sees as the truth: Oliver is a hooded vigilante who jumps off rooftops and puts arrows in people.

Much as she hates Oliver, he was smart to want her as his attorney. Detective Lance is blinded by his grief over losing Laurel's sister Sarah. Oliver is a good outlet for that grief. Laurel's father hates Oliver, he hates The Hood, and his grief won't let him see that the two are not one in the same.

Laurel is just the person to knock some sense into him.

The more time Laurel spends with Oliver for this trial, the more she comes to realize that everyone wants something out of him. Her father wants Oliver to be the source of all his pain, Mrs. Queen and Tommy both want Oliver to be exactly the same as he was before, Thea wants Oliver to cater to every bump and bruise she thinks she went through in his disappearance, Laurel wants him to explain to her all of these confusing feelings that cloud her judgment when she's around Oliver and Tommy.

"…a period of incarceration…"

The rest of the prosecutor's words drown to white noise as all Laurel can focus on is Oliver. She sees indignation plastered on his face with the tension in his jaw, the way he starts tapping his foot, and the way he leans forward in his chair as if he's ready to challenge the claim that he is insane.

But in his eyes, Laurel sees his hidden fear. Fear that maybe the prosecutor is right.

But then Oliver spins something about a polygraph and all Laurel can find herself saying is why Oliver should take the insanity plea because of all the people who still want something from him.

When she storms out of the room after that, some part of Laurel couldn't help but wonder: what does Oliver want?

"The physician that examined you reported that 20 percent of your body is covered in scar tissue."

As her father spits his questions out with the venom of an impatient viper, Laurel watches Oliver carefully. When her father reaches his scars, Oliver's face goes wooden, his eyes glazing over. He fixates his gaze on a small coffee stain on the table as if that coffee stain were his lifeline. It pains Laurel to admit that she doesn't have the strength to pull Oliver out of the room before he has to say something that he, in no way shape or form, is ready to say yet. All that comes out of her mouth is,

"The machine won't work unless you ask a question."

"Did that happen to you there?"

Oliver looks up at Detective Lance, "Yes."

"When you came back you told everyone you were alone on that island. Are you claiming that your scars were self inflicted?"

Laurel prides herself on not flinching when Detective Lance asks that question and something inside Oliver snaps. First she sees a flicker of anger, of outrage. Why him? Why must he relive his worst nightmares?

Then it is gone and all that is left are the eyes of a lost, broken soul.

"No," he says in a monotone, robotic voice, as if he's gone on autopilot, "I didn't want to talk about what happened to me on the island."

Laurel gulps. She doesn't like where this is going and she's sorely tempted to call off the rest of the polygraph because Oliver's body language screams danger, flee immediately.

Like a coward, and a lawyer, she lets him sit there as her father asks,

"Why not?"

"Because the people that were there tortured me."

Laurel looks up at Oliver. Oh God, Oliver, what happened to Oliver on that island?

Of course her father glosses straight over that answer to ask if Oliver is a killer because Laurel is right, nobody cares what Oliver wants for himself anymore; they're all too busy trying to get what they want from him.

Oliver slumps in his chair, clearly exhausted as he says that he killed Sarah Lance the day he invited her onto the Gambit.

And all her father can do is sit there and purse his lips and sneer at Oliver. And finally, Oliver breaks, ripping off the cuff linking him to the polygraph machine and fleeing the room before he can visibly break down in front of her and her father.

Laurel stands. "Can I assume you and Mrs. Spencer will be dropping all charges against my client?"

Because who in their right mind could sit there and witness those mere fragments of a story of a broken man and still connect him to a vigilante like the Hood?

"No, I know a guilty man when I see one."

Laurel is prone to forgetting that her father is not in his right mind. Realizing she can do nothing more here, she hurries out of the precinct.

* * *

Gathering up her courage, she arrives at Oliver's house later that night to confront him about the polygraph to find him in the middle of a party.

Prison themed, how quaint.

She asks him if they can go someplace quiet and he agrees at once. He always was one to cater to her every whim. Until she asked for something he wasn't ready to give.

How can she really blame him for running away?

Oliver's room brings back flashbacks of fishnets and Mario's Pizza. Oliver used to be so carefree. How could he possibly survive torture?

She blurts out some preamble of apologizing for her father's shameful behavior and some heartfelt bullshit about trying to get Oliver to understand why her father hates him and Oliver's eyes glaze over once again. He waits patiently until she's done before asking her quietly,

"Why don't you hate me?"

She admits that she did hate him, for so long.

"I was so wrapped up in what happened to my family that I didn't even stop to consider what had happened to you," she admits, ashamedly, but refusing to look anywhere other than Oliver's eyes. At least she can still give him the respect of eye contact.

Oliver takes a deep breath to ground himself as what little color was left in his face vanishes.

Laurel's eyes drift to the corner of his bed because she still isn't brave enough to make eye contact for what comes next.

"I didn't know about the torture, or your scars. What happened to you on that island was far more than you deserved."

She looks up at him and those beautiful, blue eyes, filled with sadness and pain beg her not to ask what she's about to ask, but she can't go without this anymore. She needs to know his pain before she can even begin to help him heal.

"I was wrong not to ask you before, but I'm asking you now. I need to see, I need to know."

Once Oliver has obediently removed his shirt, Laurel stares in shock, horror and awe at the many angry markings covering his skin. She traces her hand over a burn mark just above his heart, over various slash marks crisscrossing his chest, over a star-shaped tattoo that reminds her distinctly of a tattoo she saw on the chest of a Russian gang member her friend in the DA's office once persecuted and there must be some connection-no, that is a mystery for another time. She traces one finger along the largest, jagged scar running across his entire stomach area. She winces, imagining the serrated blade cutting through Oliver's flesh like cheese and in her mind, she can imagine Oliver screaming until his throat went raw and he gave up because no one who cared could hear him.

"How did you survive this?"

"There were times when I wanted to die."

Oliver's voice is low and thin. He grounds himself in Laurel's face because if he doesn't, Laurel can see that he will break down completely.

"In the end, there was something I wanted more."

The two kiss.

Right then and there, Laurel decides to listen to her confusing emotions because hell, Oliver just said that the mere thought of her kept him alive for five years. And after hearing all of what everyone else wants from Oliver, Laurel finally knows what Oliver wants.

After all Oliver has been through, what he will go through on his road to recovery because no, Oliver is not insane, merely broken and in need of fixing, she feels inclined to give the man what he wants.

* * *

 **Willoffire123: Whew! Finally finished!**

 **Oliver: I'm. Not. Crazy.**

 **Laurel: No, Tommy is.**

 **Tommy: NO. MORE. ADELE.**

 **Willoffire123: Fine! No more Adele! Because tomorrow, or should I say today? It is past midnight, after all.**

 **Thea: Get on with it.**

 **Willoffire123: I'm getting there, woman! Anyway, today is Palm Sunday! So yes, we will be trading out Adele for hours upon hours of liturgical music.**

 **Oliver: Why?**

 **Willoffire123: Because as a member of a rather famous American church choir, I have a call time tomorrow at seven in the morning. I will not leave church again tomorrow until seven at night.**

 **Laurel: That violates child labor laws.**

 **Willoffire123: Yes, but no one has ever done anything about it before. Which is why I am going to suck it up and go to bed now because I have to wake up at six in the morning.**

 **Thea: Until next time!**


	5. Diggle

**Willoffire123: Why the fuck-**

 **Laurel: Language!**

 **Willoffire123:- is it supposed to snow on Saturday? It's spring!**

 **Oliver: Global warming**

 **Tommy: Well that sucks**

 **Diggle: Why the fuck am I here?**

 **Willoffire123: Because it's your chapter!**

 **Oliver: Oh joy.**

 **Diggle: (maniacal grin) this'll be fun. Willoffire123 doesn't own Arrow.**

 **Willoffire123: On with the chapter!**

* * *

Diggle

Diggle is a soldier, through and through. He has seen war, hardship and suffering and he has learned how to move past it. After years of babysitting spoiled trust fund brats, he cherished the hardships he witnessed in Afghanistan. None of those brats had ever known an once of hardship in their lives; therefore, he was better than them.

Oliver Queen was no exception to the rule. The moment he entered the Queen mansion for the first time and Mrs. Queen introduced herself, he knew Oliver Queen would be just as entitled as each of Diggle's previous charges.

Except, when he meets Oliver Queen himself, he finds his resolutions faltering. Oh sure, the boy put on a good front. Diggle could easily see Oliver going into an acting career; he pulls off spoiled trust fund brat perfectly.

But then Diggle wakes on a table in the Hood's hideout after being poisoned and has to listen as Oliver patiently explained that he was the Hood and that he had healed Diggle.

When Oliver tells Diggle to join him, Diggle vehemently refuses. He calls Oliver crazy, then stalks out of the room. Before he left, Diggle could have sworn he saw a fleeting look of regret, of loneliness pass over Oliver's face.

But then he is gone, disappearing back into the depths of Verdant.

Diggle decides to let it go. The kid is a spoiled trust fund brat with some severe PTSD issues. Diggle should have gone straight to the authorities.

Except, he knows damn well that after everything the Hood has done so far, Oliver could very well get the death penalty for his crimes.

And even after everything that has happened, even though Oliver killed his brother's killer, Diggle doesn't want to see the kid get hurt. He may be messed up in the head, but he certainly doesn't deserve the electric chair.

Some days later, Oliver arrives at Big Belly Burger. Diggle grinds his teeth as Oliver's fresh meat- the new bodyguard- scans the area for danger. Is Oliver _trying_ to get Diggle to hurt him?

Oliver slides into Diggle's booth and when Oliver gives him his 'offer' again, Diggle scoffs. "Please, you were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth, Queen. What, you spend five years on an island with no room service and suddenly you found religion?"  
Diggle vaguely notices Oliver searching for something in his back pocket as he talks. Once Diggle is done with his rant, Oliver slaps a worn out journal on the table.

"I found this on my father's corpse when I buried him," Oliver said quietly.

Diggle blinked. "Wait, you told the world that you were the only one who survived the ship sinking."

"No, we both made it to a life raft," said Oliver, looking Diggle dead in the eye as he said, "There wasn't enough food or water for the both of us so three days in, my dad shot himself in the head."

Diggle leans back against his seat. Woah…what? Diggle barely registers Oliver's words about righting sins and survival; he's too busy coming to a new conclusion of Oliver Queen.

The kid may have once been a trust fund brat, but that is clearly not the case anymore. Now, all Diggle can see is a soldier, stony-faced but afraid to wage his war alone.

"Do we have a deal?"

Diggle is a soldier through and through. The least he can do is support his fellow man on the battlefront.

"I'm in."

* * *

 **Willoffire123: Hi Hi Hi!**

 **Laurel: Why the fuck are you still awake?**

 **Willoffire123: Because I may have agreed to take on a discontinued story and I felt bad for all of my stories that still need to be finished?**

 **Tommy: You're impossible**

 **Willoffire123: If you really think about it though, this is a collection of one-shots. I could end it now or I could churn out another fifty chapters. So is it ever REALLY finished?**

 **Oliver: I hate you.**

 **Harry: Join the club. Until next time!**


	6. Felicity

**Willoffire123: Guess what?**

 **Thea: What?**

 **Willoffire123: I'm going to college next week!**

 **Thea: No you're not. By the time you actually post this you will already be at college.**

 **Willoffire123: Yeah, probably.**

 **Oliver: Wish I could experience college…**

 **Thea: Oh stop moping, Oliver. It's time to see Felicity!**

 **Oliver: Felicity's here? Yes! Willoffire123 doesn't own Arrow! On with the chapter!**

* * *

Felicity

When Felicity met Oliver, he handed her a laptop riddled with bullet holes and told her he spilled coffee on it.

The sad part is? That wasn't the worst lie. For Christ's sake, he came to her with a syringe full of vertigo and said it was an energy drink and he needed a hangover cure.

Then Oliver rises, bloody and dying, from the back seat of her car, and the first thing Felicity thinks is what crackpot story Oliver will use to cover this up.

He is the Hood.

He is the Hood and when he confronted his mother as the Hood for information, his own mother shot him.

Felicity has to say; she doesn't see that one coming.

It takes Felicity and her new friend Diggle four hours to save Oliver's life. Four strenuous hours in which Oliver hovers on the brink of death are almost too much for a simple IT girl to take. But she powers through. Her boss needs her; nothing else matters.

Then, eight hours later, Oliver's beautiful blue eyes flutter open.

"Mr. Queen?" she asks tentatively.

Oliver's head lolls to the side and those beautiful blue eyes, glazed over with hurt and fatigue, finally see her. He manages a small smile. "Well, I guess I didn't die. Cool."

Diggle breaks down into a fit of hysterical laughter on Felicity's shoulder and calls it a night. Felicity promises she'll keep watch over their charge, albeit a little halfheartedly-Diggle doesn't seem up for conversation-as the man staggers over to the couch and promptly passes out.

"Felicity," Oliver groans, fixing her with an unseeing stare, "You still there?"

Felicity gulps nervously, "Yeah, boss."

Oliver grunts before realizing that not even he is stubborn enough to attempt to sit up after a near fatal gunshot wound. "I suppose you have questions," he says at last, resigning himself to lying prone against the operating table.

With shaking hands, Felicity picks a discarded, fleecy blanket off the floor and drapes it over her boss' torso. "I do," she says finally, "and I'll stay right here until you're ready to give me answers."

Even Felicity knows that the Oliver Queen at 100% physical capacity would never accept that answer. However, the Oliver in front of her resigns himself to his IT consultant, and allows himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

"Oh man, you're still awake?" Diggle yawns, stretching to join Felicity by Oliver's side.

"You were only out for an hour," says Felicity without taking her eyes off Oliver, "I counted the minutes."

Felicity can feel Diggle popping all his joints awake next to her. "Weird, I feel like I've been asleep for ages. You should get some sleep; I can watch him."

Felicity doesn't budge.

"Felicity, I promise he's going to be ok. We did the hard part already. Now it's up to him to pull through."

"His mother shot him, Diggle," Felicity says softly, "How can he possibly pull through?"

Diggle gently redirects Felicitiy's face so that she is looking at him. "You know that he was stranded on an island of the south coast of China for 5 years, right?'

"Yes."

"What Oliver experienced on that island is more horrific than anything I could possibly imagine, and I served two tours in Afghanistan. He's a messed up dude with a messed up family. So no, he is not going to pull through his mother shooting him, or his ptsd, or his addict-prone sister."

Felicity bites her lip. "I refuse to believe that."  
Diggle raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Oliver has people who care about him! He has you, his sister, his mother-she can't possibly KNOW that she shot her son, right?- and me. He has me! We care about him, right? He's not alone. We can help him pull through this!"

Diggle manages a small smile. "I like your optimism. Lord knows Oliver needs some of that right now."

He pulls up a chair next to Felicity's before jogging up the stairs. "I'll get some coffee!"

Felicity grins and sags in her chair.

* * *

 **willoffire123: I'm back!**

 **Felicity: How's college going?**

 **willoffire123:...**

 **Diggle: what are you not telling us?**

 **willoffire123:...summer vacation starts next tuesday...**

 **Felicity:...**

 **Diggle:...**

 **Thea: you're a bad author**

 **willoffire123: you mean cuz it took a year to post this? Or because I'm almost 19 and I still do these conclusions and introductions?**

 **Felicity: Oh just let me finish the chapter already. Until next time!**


End file.
